“Philippians chapter two.” He opened his Bible to the marker he’d put in. “I was studying this recently and thought it very good.”
“Shall I read, or will you?”
“Go ahead. Start with verse fourteen.”
Elise followed the words with her index finger. “‘Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world,’” she read, then stopped. “How hard that is. I complain all the time.”
“When? I never hear you,” her father said with a hint of amusement. “You rarely ever complain or grumble.”
“Perhaps I do it in the silence of my mind, but it’s there. These verses suggest that as a child of God I should do all things without such an attitude, otherwise I’m no different from the rest of the world and cannot be a beacon of light for God.”
“It’s hard not to grumble and complain, especially when things go wrong.” Her father shook his head. “Your motheralways had a way of keeping me in good spirits. When I’d start in on how bad we had it, she’d make me stop and think about the good things first.”
Elise smiled. “Yes. She did that with me as well. ‘Count your blessings before listing what’s wrong,’ she used to say. I was always frustrated by that when I was younger because it felt like she didn’t care, but now that I’m older, I understand. I would give this long list of blessings, and then she’d tell me to go ahead and tell her what was wrong. I might have been frustrated with Caroline for something, but having listed my sister as a blessing, it was hard to bring up my complaint against her.”
“Your mother had a way of making sense and simplicity out of difficult matters. Not that these verses are difficult. They’re pretty straightforward. The world spends all its time in conflict and complaint. Nothing is ever large enough or small enough or busy enough or restful enough. People get sick and complain, yet do the same when they’re healthy. They fight wars and complain, then seem out of sorts during times of peace and loudly issue their opinions.”
“I wonder what my life would be like if I truly did all things without murmurings and disputing?” Elise considered the problems of the day and could name a half dozen times she’d complained. “I pledge to try harder. I am confessing my sin and ask you to help hold me accountable, Papa.”
He smiled. “I accept the job, for I believe it will be an easy one.”
“I think you’ll be surprised.”
Chapter 8
It was said that a three-masted schooner needed a crew of only five. The captain, the cook, and one man for each mast. Nick was glad Captain Wright saw it differently. TheMary Elisehad a crew of eight regularly and sometimes as many as ten. Bill Wright was unlike any man he’d ever met. Nick supposed it might have been his Christian faith, but he’d known other men of faith who were captains. It might have been his deep love of family that made him extend that same attitude to his crew. Whatever it was, Nick felt that the older man genuinely cared about each and every man in a way that ran deeper than mere employer to employee. He was even generous in patience with Booker Duran, who was quickly losing the respect of every other man on board.
“Stop playing that cursed thing,” Duran demanded across the deck.
Nick frowned. He knew Duran hated young Tom’s harmonica playing. The boy was pretty good, however, and the rest of the men enjoyed it and even asked for it in their personal time.
“Pay him no mind, Tom. Play.” This came from the second mate, who had stood up to Duran on more than one occasion.
There was momentary silence, and then Tom started up again, this time playing a jaunty jig. Nick appreciated the boy’s resilience and willingness to continue. Duran could make a person feel nervous, even threatened, just by his large size.
Nick glanced at his pocket watch. The second mate would soon take the helm, and Nick would inspect the work being done at the bow. Without warning, however, Tom’s music stopped, and a commotion began. The men were shouting, and there was the sound of a scuffle. Nick hurried to where Duran and Russ Davis, a wiry, all-muscle man in his forties, were rolling around on the deck. The other men were doing what they could to clear the area of paint and brushes.
Motioning to Sam, Nick wondered if young Tom’s harmonica playing was at the bottom of this.
“Aye, Mr. Clark,” Sam said, coming to his side.
“Go take the wheel.” Sam nodded and hurried away. Nick turned back to the rest of the men. “Stop this now!” He’d never had reason to bellow in such a way before.
“What’s going on here?” roared Captain Wright. It rather surprised the men, and everyone came to attention except for the two on the deck who were still fighting. Nick wasn’t surprised the altercation had drawn the attention of the captain. The captain nudged him. “Take hold of Russ. I’ll get Duran.”
It was a risk to jump into the fracas, but Nick did as instructed and pulled Russ backward. The seaman fought against him.
“Let me go. You didn’t see what he did.” Russ tried to squirm away from Nick, but Nick pulled him farther away from Duran.
Duran raised his fist to Captain Wright, then seemed to realizewho held him and lowered his arm. He went still as the captain fixed him with a stern stare.
“Stop this now,” the captain ordered. “And somebody tell me why we have fighting on my deck.”
Russ calmed as he became aware of what was going on. Nick let go his hold, and Russ stepped forward. “I’ll tell you, Cap’n.”
“Very well, go ahead.” Wright still had a grip on Duran’s collar.
“Duran threw Tom’s harmonica over the side.”
